


Asylum

by RecklessWriter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, NOT carl/negan - Freeform, Platonic relationship dynamics, Protective Carl Grimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-22 21:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18535891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecklessWriter/pseuds/RecklessWriter
Summary: "Run," his father tells him, shoving his sister into his arms. "Take Judith and run!"An attack by Walkers that decimates Alexandria leaves Carl the only known survivor. Carl would rather die than ever go to Negan for help - but he has to protect his sister.





	Asylum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware, this story is NOT Carl/Negan. I have nothing against the pairing, but I wanted to write a story that explored their dynamic in a way that wasn't romantic or sexual. (Which we would have gotten more of in the show if they hadn't killed Carl off, which I'm going to be forever bitter about...)

 

 

> **a • sy • lum :** to grant someone shelter or protection from danger.

* * *

 

The attack takes them all by surprise. The night is quiet and peaceful when the growls suddenly pierce the air, followed quickly by screaming and gunfire.

Carl is awake in an instant, gun already in his hand as he rushes from the room. Adrenaline floods his body, instinct driving him forward as the situation registers. He bolts down the hall as if Hell is on his tail.

He doesn’t freeze. He can’t afford to. He has to protect his sister.

“Dad!” Carl yells. His voice rings hauntingly over the panic coming from outside. “ _Dad_!”

They collide in the doorway to Judith’s room. Judith is held tightly in his father’s arms, and when he looks at Carl his eyes are frenzied.

“Carl,” he breathes. “Carl, thank god.”

Carl gives himself half a second to feel relieved Judith is safe. “What’s happening?” he asks. He keeps his pistol drawn low, clicking off the safety with his thumb. “How many of them are there?”

“It’s an entire horde. I've never seen so many in one place before. We have to get out now.”

Fear skitters down his spine. He thinks of all the hordes of Walkers he’s lived through, and tries to imagine a number larger than what he’s already seen. He can’t picture it.

The three of them rush down the stairs. Rick is shielding Judith in the circle of his arms, so Carl slips in front of him to take up the leading position. The shrieking and animalistic snarling is deafening in his ears, and he throws the door open and steps into a nightmare.

The dead are everywhere he looks. Overrunning the streets, converging on people like flies swarming around carcasses. It’s utter mayhem; there must be dozens upon dozens of them, their faces sick and rotting as they sink their teeth and nails into their meals—the people fighting in the streets, people shooting and screaming and dying. People he knows. People he _recognizes_.

He watches with a wide eye as two Walkers latch onto Carol and she falls. Four more immediately converge on her; it’s so loud, he can’t even hear her scream.

Horror roots him in place. Then three Walkers stumble toward them, and Carl raises his gun and fires three times in succession. There’s no time to process—no time to feel grief. He snaps into action.

This isn’t a horde. This is an army.

“Carl, wait!” His father’s hand latches onto his elbow, strong and desperate. “We can’t fight them, there’s way too many! We need to leave!”

“We can’t leave without Michonne!” he yells. Panic burns in his chest, makes it hard to breathe. He won’t leave her. He _can’t_.

“Protect Judith!” he says to his father. “I won’t leave without her!”

“ _Carl_!” Rick screams. Carl rips himself out of his grasp and dives into the bloodbath.

He pushes passed struggling bodies and rotting flesh, evades scratching fingernails and fires a bullet at any pair of teeth that gets close to his skin. His eyes search desperately for a flash of familiar dark skin and hair. He doesn’t let himself look at anything else; watching the bodies be torn apart is hard enough without recognizing their faces.

It’s primal. It’s instinct. He fights to live just a second longer, then he fights for another second after that. He fights for what this world taught him to do, for what his mother died telling him. _Survive. Above all costs, survive._

“Michonne!” he screams. His voice is lost in the noise. “ _Michonne_!”

He catches a glimpse from the corner of his eye of a familiar face, pale and bleeding; he thinks it might be Daryl, but he can’t afford to check. He can’t care if Daryl is dying feet away, or if Maggie is being trampled, or if Walkers are ripping out Enid's intestines. He isn’t allowed to care, so he forces himself not to.

He just has to find Michonne. He has to protect his family.

A hand latches onto his bicep, a snarling face covered in blood and teeth snapping. He switches his gun to the opposite hand and fires. The shot is wildly unsteady—he isn’t left-handed—but the Walker is so close that it doesn’t matter. Brain matter splatters through the air.

“Michonne!”

He finally spots her, yards away. Gnarled hands are tangled in her thick hair, forcing her down. She’s fighting wildly, kicking and punching and _snarling_ , but she doesn’t have a weapon, and terror explodes in Carl's gut. Terror—followed quickly by rage.

 _No_.

He fights harder than he’s ever fought. He slams his elbows into their faces, fires bullets into their skulls, slams the nozzle of his pistol against their heads. Their nails scrape at his clothes, but he rips himself out of their grasp. His pulse is loud in his ears, the desperation clawing painfully at his throat.

He loses his hat in the chaos. He doesn’t pick it up.

He’s feet away now. He fires a round into the Walker trying to take a bite out of Michonne's shoulder. She flings the body off of her and turns to face him—

And a Walker sinks its teeth into her throat.

Everything freezes. The world goes muffled and quiet. Michonne's eyes lock with his, cold realization inside them, and Carl sees the moment when the light inside them fades. Like the flicker of a switch, she’s there one moment, and the next she’s _gone_.

Her blood spatters the side of her face as the Walker rips into her artery. She falls, and Carl watches the dead descend on her. They tear into her stomach, ripping out her insides. He can see her intestines hanging from their mouths.

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. It’s like firing a bullet into Shane’s skull. It’s like watching his mother’s eyes slip closed. He can’t feel anything; he’s numb.

A gun goes off in front of him, blowing out the brains of the Walker that was about to chomp on him. Daryl stares back at him from behind it.

“The hell are you doin', kid?!” he yells. “Fuckin' _move_!”

The world snaps back into focus. Sound comes rushing back. He spins around and runs back the way he came, his heart pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. He aims his gun again and again, the sound of the shots making his ears ring, and he doesn’t pause for breath until he’s close enough to see Judith in his dad’s arms.

“Carl!” Rick grabs onto his shoulder immediately to pull him in, his hand cold against his cheek. His eyes are relieved but still flooded with terror when he asks, “Is she…”

Carl's throat burns. Forcing back tears, he shakes his head.

Grief passes over his father’s face, heavy enough that Carl fears it will crumple him, but it’s then replaced with a stony expression.

“Okay,” he says, and his face is eerily calm as he looks at him. “Okay. Carl, you need to go. You need to take Judith and go, you understand?”

“What?” Carl stares at him in horror. He shakes his head. “No—no, you’re coming with us!”

“Carl—”

“It’s not an option, Dad!”

“My duty is here,” he says. “Yours is to your sister. You get her out. You protect her. Promise me.”

Carl shakes his head, but his eyes fall down to the toddler in his father’s arms. She’s so small, so innocent; so untouched by the horror of this world. She’s his responsibility.

“ _Run_ ,” his father tells him. He shoves his sister into his arms. “Take Judith and _run_.”

Carl’s arms wrap around her automatically, pressing her against his chest. He stares at his father and feels himself shaking.

“I love you,” he whispers. It’s only when the words leave his mouth that he realizes how long it’s been since he’s said them.

Rick smiles, and there are tears in his eyes. He presses a kiss against Judith’s head, then takes Carl's face in his hands.

“ _Survive_ ,” he says.

Carl nods. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he turns his back and runs.

 _It’s important to fight_ , Shane told him once. _But it’s even more important to know when to run._

 _Protect your little brother or sister_ , his mother had said.

_I will._

It’s a miracle he manages to make it through. Judith is screaming in his arms, her crying right next to his ear, and the dead are swarming everywhere. Luckily, most of them seem preoccupied by other meals, but he still has to fight through the horde. He only fires his gun when he absolutely has to. He doesn’t know how many rounds he has left, but he knows it can’t be any more than five. Probably less.

It’s hard to fight with Judith in his arms, screaming and flailing and pulling at his hair in a panic. He can’t soothe her, can’t calm her; there’s no time.

 _Protect your sister._ Judith is what matters. Judith is _all_ that matters.

He eventually gets far enough away that the Walkers begin to thin out. He can hear them pursuing him, hear their rattling breaths and gurgling snarls, but his feet pound against the pavement as he leaves them in the dust. His chest feels tight and his muscles burn, the ligaments in his legs stretched to the limit. He doesn’t stop running.

He eventually reaches a block with no Walkers in sight. He collapses to his knees in one of the yards, cradling Judith as he sits there and breathes. The need to keep going, to survive, still drives him, but his heart rate slows and his mind begins to clear.

 _Think_ , he tells himself. _You have to think. What now?_

He doesn’t let himself think of his father. Or Michonne. Or Enid. If he thinks about it, then he knows there’s a chance he won’t get back up. He forces emotion away, falls back on cold, hard logic.

He needs to get out of Alexandria—get somewhere safe. To Hilltop, or to the Kingdom. But both colonies are miles away. It would take days of walking to reach one of them, and he’s completely exhausted and without any supplies. No food, no water. A single gun with only a handful of bullets.  
He won’t make it. _Judith_ won’t make it.

He needs to find a vehicle to drive, something with wheels, anything. Then he can make it to the Kingdom—it's about twelve miles out, so it’s the closest. If he drives fast, he can make it there in under half an hour.

Judith starts crying; loud, wailing sobs that escape her and echo through the bloody streets. Fear spikes through him at the idea of more Walkers being drawn toward them because of the noise, and he tries quickly to calm her.

“Shh, shh,” he hushes her. He wipes her cheeks gently with his thumbs, strokes her hair as he rocks her. “It’s okay. It’s all okay…”

He presses his cheek against the top of her head. Unbidden, helpless tears spring to his eyes.

“Your brother will protect you. I promise…”

 

 

 

He finds a truck abandoned just outside the limits of the safe-zone—or rather, what used to be the safe-zone. He quickly hotwires it— _thank you, Uncle Shane_ —placing Judy securely in his lap before speeding toward the Kingdom.

Briefly, he wonders if he’s old enough to drive now. Has he turned sixteen yet?

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greets him when he reaches the Kingdom. Bodies are strewn everywhere, half-eaten limbs and bones and gore. The streets are soaked in blood and the stench of death, and there’s not a single person to be seen.

Just like Alexandria. The Walkers took out _everyone_.

Bile rises up in his throat. He swallows it down and turns his truck around. Hilltop is thirty miles in the opposite direction.

It’s a little over two hours later by the time he reaches Hilltop, and by then he’s grown so exhausted that he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. Judith is sleeping in his lap. He’s weary and thirsty and hurting, and all he wants to do is let himself drift off and never wake up. He wants to curl up in a ball and sob, to shut the world away.

But he has someone he needs to protect. And he isn’t a child anymore.

Hilltop is empty as well. But unlike the Kingdom, the streets are empty of blood and corpses. It looks more like the colony was abandoned than attacked by Walkers. Like everyone packed up their bags and left.

Carl prays that’s the case. Maybe they heard that the Walkers were coming. Maybe they evacuated in time.

Still, sitting in the truck on the empty street, a slumbering baby in his lap, Carl feels utterly hopeless. He has nowhere to go, and if he stays here, even if the Walkers don’t get them, lack of water and food will. They’re going to die. _Judith_ is going to die, and there is _nothing he can do._

A thought sparks in his mind, a last and final option. It’s a horrible idea, the worst he’s ever had—but it’s the only one he’s got.

He glances down at the meter in front of him. He’s running out of gas. If he does this, it’s his last resort. He and Judith will be stranded. The two of them will die alone.

Carl restarts the car. It’s stupid, it’s terrible, it’s likely to get them both killed. But Carl is desperate. He’ll do anything to keep his sister alive—even if it means begging for the help of the man he hates the most.

“I’m going to keep you save, Judith,” he resolves. His knuckles are bloodless against the steering wheel. “Whatever it takes.”

 

 

 

The truck runs out of gas, and he leaves it abandoned by the side of the road. He continues his journey on foot, dragging his body forward and clutching his sister to his chest. By the time he sees the tall factory rising up in the distance, the sun has begun to rise.

He remembers the regret he felt that day when he went after Negan; remembers sitting on that couch in front of him with his face bared, rage and humiliation burning through him as he realized how foolish his plan had been. Now, he feels grateful. Going after Negan alone had been undoubtedly stupid of him—but it’s also the only reason he knows where the Sanctuary is located.

He can barely stand when he reaches the place. He has no energy, no strength. He eyes the Walkers chained to the fence with dismay, his heart sinking in defeat as he imagines trying to get passed them to the front gate. He can’t do it.

He tries anyway. He wraps his left arm around Judith, tucking her head under his chin, and with his right he clicks the safety off his pistol.

The Walkers turn on him like sharks scenting blood in the water. Carl pulls the trigger on one, smashes the gun into the face of another. His body is heavy, dragging him down.

He stumbles. A Walker wraps its bony hand in the fabric of his shirt, and he goes down hard. They’re on top of him immediately.

He fires off one last shot—not even hoping to hit anything, just praying that someone will hear it. _Please. Please._

He curls his body around Judith, placing her between his body and the ground as the hands begin to rip at him. Judith is crying, and Carl presses his forehead against the pavement, holding his breath and waiting for the agony of teeth sinking into his flesh—

_I’m sorry. Judith. Dad. Mom. I’m so sorry—_

Gunfire explodes not even an inch away—rapidly fired shots, like from a machine gun. Brain matter splatters against his cheek, darkens Judith’s hair. His head snaps up.

Someone is standing over him, gun aimed at his head. “Don’t move,” the guy tells him. “Drop the gun.”

Carl lets the pistol slip from his fingers onto the pavement. It’s quickly kicked away from him.

“I know you,” the Savior says, kneeling down to get a closer look at him. “You’re that kid Negan brought here.”

Carl knows he should feel threatened, one of Negan's men holding him at gunpoint, several others feet behind him. But the Walkers are off of him, he can feel Judith’s breaths against his neck, and all he can feel is a rush of euphoric relief.

“The fuck do you want?” the Savior demands.

The fight drains out of him. He looks up at the man from the ground, his arms wrapped around his sister. His entire body shakes.

“ _Asylum_ ,” he says.


End file.
